Beauty Is A Curse
by Clio S.S
Summary: Yuri's not going to do it, and Otabek persuades him otherwise. I wrote this story before reading WttM oneshot manga, and yet it contains pretty much the same things that the original, although it happens nearly half a year later. That's because I mistakenly thought that WttM was some later skate program. I'm sorry for that but still hope you will find the story enjoyable.


"I refuse."

Yakow clenched his jaw, while Lilia folder her arms and looked at him like at a naughty kid. They both frowned, discontent, and then exchanged looks.

"I refuse. I'm not going to do it," Yuri repeated; he'd never been so certain of anything before.

He turned around and left, trying not to slam the door too much.

He had no slightest intention of doing it.

* * *

Otabek was surprised upon reading that certain message sent by that certain person. Despite their supposed friendship, Yuri had never been the one to arrange their meetings, and it hadn't changed even after Otabek had moved to Saint Petersburg. If the last season hadn't convinced him that Yuri had nothing against being friends with him, he would have seriously wondered whether he was the only one who cared. However, it wasn't like him. The main reason they'd managed to see each other just a couple of time was the fact that Yuri had been spending most of the time in Moscow. For figure skaters, May was the only month of holiday, so it was no wonder that Yuri wanted to visit his family.

Still, it was Yuri who sent him the message today, _Can we meet in one hour in the usual place?_ It was Friday evening, the beginning of June, and the sun was still high, as if it didn't plan to set at all. Otabek still hadn't got used to the white nights, and he suspected it to take a longer while. For now, he suffered from permanent insomnia, and it was only thanks to his brawn that he could train more or less normally. Physical strength and endurance were his greatest, if not sole, assets.

The usual place meant a café, not far from the city centre, they'd visited twice or thrice. It was rather close both to their homes and ice rink, and it served quite decent drinks and snacks. The shop was popular with the young people, and it was easy to melt in the crowd here. The high chairs by the window counter helped to remain pleasantly anonymous - facing the pane, with your back to other customers, you didn't need to worry about intrusions. Still, Otabek couldn't quite comprehend how come Yuri's crazy fans hadn't tracked him here yet. Maybe because no-one would suspect the silver medallist of the World Championships to frequent a high-street shop. Or maybe because he would change his hoody every time he went outside.

When Otabek entered the cafe - much before the appointed time, but he'd feared that the parking lot nearby would be full, making him spend a while on trying to find free space in the streets - he saw Yuri inside, drinking his second beverage already. He wondered whether Yuri hadn't been waiting for him since sending the message, and only decency had made him offer a one hour margin... What had happened that Yuri had felt such an urgent need to meet with him? He grew anxious.

"Hey," he greeted the younger skater in a natural voice, nevertheless. "I didn't expect you to come here first."

Yuri looked up and nodded. Otabek sat down next to him, trying not to show his concern. He ordered frappe from a waitress and then looked at Yuri, who was playing with his glass. He wondered how to start the conversation. Yuri had some business with him, but now seemed like not feeling to talk. Well, Otabek should ask outright, like he used to.

He opened his mouth but, before he managed to say his typical, 'What is it? You're going to tell me or not?', Yuri spoke first.

"They want to do it again."

Otabek blinked. Who they? What to do?"

"Yakov and Baranovskaya," Yuri answered his unasked question. "In the next season, they want me to skate in the same convention... the same stylisation," he said, anger and bitterness evident in his voice. "They made a suggestion on the initial program today."

"I can tell it's not to your taste," Otabek guessed, relieved it wasn't anything more serious.

"Of course it's not to my taste!" Yuri replied indignantly. "You expect me to enjoy skating in a pink drag, with my hair pinned up and spirited expression on my face, and waving my arms like a fucking rusalka?"

"The rusalki wave their arms?" Otabek asked involuntarily, and Yuri glared at him again. "Sorry, I focused on the wrong thing," he added, trying to remain serious.

The waitress brought his order. He started drinking to hide his smile. Here he'd been worried that some tragedy had happened, and Yuri's only problem concerned the form of his skating routine...?

"What's wrong about that?" he asked.

Yuri put his glass down on the table with such a force that a few customers looked at them. "What's wrong about that?" he repeated, trying to remain calm. "I didn't expect to hear that from you," he added, sounding offended.

"It's just an artistic image," Otabek noticed. Really, what was Yuri making such a fuss about?

"You know where I want to ram that artistic image up? If Yakov and Baranovskaya get me into this again, I'm never going to shake it off me. People will start to think I'm weak. I won't have it!"

Otabek shook his head, surprised. "No-one thinks you're weak," he replied with a frown. "How did it even occur to you?"

The sixteen-year-old's slight shoulders fell visibly, but his voice was still outraged. "I never imagined that upon progressing to Seniors they would make me a girl of me. Do you think it's normal? Damn, I'm in _Men_ Singles, not _Ladies!_ Sooner or later I'll be a laughing stock everywhere. No-one will take me seriously."

Otabek was still of the opinion Yuri was making a mountain out of a molehill. But how to make him see it?

"Who said that girls are weak? You should meet my big sister," he muttered. "She works in the police force, and all guys are shit-scared of her. When we were kids, she would give me a hiding on a regular basis," he added, wincing, but then he realised Yuri couldn't care less. "Tell me what's the real problem here. It's not that you didn't do it before. And you didn't actually seem like hating it."

Yuri shrugged, but he was looking rather miserable now. "I thought it was a one-night stand. Just one season. Besides..." He lowered his gaze. "It was Victor's idea..." he murmured, clearly embarrassed.

Well, it could be understood. Victor Nikiforov was still his weakness, regardless how much Yuri tried to deny it and claim otherwise. Not that Otabek would use it against him. Everyone would have a weak spot for the six time world champion, especially as charismatic as Victor. Otabek suspected that, when Victor had choreographed a program for him, Yuri had accepted it hat in hand. But now it seemed he no longer liked it.

Sipping on his frappé, Otabek wondered how he could look at the problem from his friend's point of view. Yuri had wanted to meet with him… Did he need his support? Or just someone to vent his frustration on? Personally, Otabek still thought that the convention of rusalka suited Yuri the best. He couldn't imagine - at least, not presently - Yuri Plisetsky to suddenly turn into a macho. The very thought made him snort; fortunately, it sounded like choking since he was drinking.

No, he really was convinced he should persuade Yuri into proceeding with the current, how had he called it, 'convention and stylisation'. It was the only option, the right option.

"What's so strange about using all your assets to achieve a success?" he asked.

Yuri looked at him askance. "I don't consider my b- my looks as my asset!" he spat.

"But it is one," Otabek replied.

"I didn't ask to be born with this face," Yuri said with emphasis.

"No person did. But you can't help it," Otabek stated the obvious. "It would be foolish not to take advantage of it."

"I want to win owing to my skills."

"And you do," Otabek replied, asking himself whether he was already annoyed or not. "If you skated like a hacker, then even being the prettiest rusalka in the world wouldn't help much. But the other direction... It does act in your favour," he noticed. "Your appearance added to your skills can provide you with a few more points. Maybe it's not fair, but this discipline is like that. The visual pleasure is important, too. And you certainly make a nice view," he said what everything thought. "So, the more drag you put on and the more you wave, the better. Spectators will like it. And, what's more important, the judges will too. You have to accept that. Take it like an artist."

Yuri pressed his lips tight and fixed his gaze ahead, on the glass pane or what was behind it. Yet, he didn't seem like seeing it, and rather looked inside himself.

"I thought you would be on my side, but you're just like the rest..." he said bitterly. "Why everyone tells me the same thing?"

'Just like the rest.' Otabek couldn't deny it hurt a bit. He wondered whether it was really like Yuri had said... And only now it occurred to him that Yuri might have invited him here to hear something else.

"Why, Otabek?" Yuri asked with emphasis.

"Maybe because you _are_ the prettiest rusalka in the world," Otabek answered without thinking and realised it only when he saw an utterly astonished gaze of Yuri's greenish eyes.

He blinked... and then became frightened. Suddenly he was perfectly sure Yuri would feel offended, get up and leave. And it would mean the end to their friendship - that strange friendship Otabek had longed for since their first meeting on the juniors training camp. What had got into him to say such a thing? He felt like tousling his hair out of frustration. How could he reverse that?

Yuri, however, kept staring at him with his keen eyes and didn't seem like going anywhere, at least not for a while.

"Just in case... Otabek, you're not trying to hit on me, are you?" he asked, suspicion and warning mixing in his voice.

"Of course I'm not!" Otabek nearly groaned.

"I'm not a girl, you know..."

Otabek said nothing. It seemed the danger was miraculously averted. His own words from a moment ago still puzzled him, nonetheless... Why had he said it? Well, maybe because it was what he truly thought.

Yuri, in the meantime, cast a furious look on him, apparently misunderstanding his silence.

"I'm not a girl!" he almost shouted, and a couple seating a bit farther chuckled.

"No-one thinks you're a girl...!" Otabek replied, praying for patience. "Though now you whine like one," he added maliciously.

"You're a dead man, Otabek," Yuri said and ordered one more frappé. However, the moment Otabek thought his friend to be himself again, Yuri threw, "You really don't take me seriously, do you?" and there was a disappointment in his voice now.

Maybe it was what finally got to Otabek and opened his eyes. He felt ashamed. Actually, how he'd behaved towards Yuri so far? Of course, he was immensely impressed with Yuri's talent and enraptured by his skills... but outside the rink he treated him like a kid who used to get mad and sulk without reason. Sure, they were two years apart - and at this age two years could be like a gulf, like a border between childhood and adulthood - but did it justify him? Yuri had asked for this meeting... had asked him, no-one else, which meant he trusted him and hoped for his support, maybe even help... And Otabek intended to wimp him out, never taking him seriously? Just repeat the same old slogans and arguments that others did? A really good friend he was... He felt very foolish.

He shook his head and looked down. "Sorry," he said, wondering what he should say next, but in the end he only repeated, "Sorry."

They sat in silence for a longer while, drinking their beverages. It was still bright day outside, even though the bell of the nearby church struck eight. The sunlight was being reflected in the windows of the house at the opposite side of the street; the sky was blue and clear. People moved on the pavement outside the window, no-one hurrying this Friday evening, laughing and walking animatedly, enjoying the spring and company. It was calm and safe.

Otabek realised Yuri was still sitting next to him; he hadn't got up, hadn't left, hadn't end their friendship despite Otabek's behaviour providing him with a possible excuse, and a few times already. Otabek wasn't content to understand that, out of the two of them, it was him being more childish. All he could do was to try and repair it.

"How... how can I help you?" he asked and decided it was the most sensible thing he'd said during this conversation.

Yuri shrugged, which Otabek saw in the pane, for he still didn't dare to look at him. "I was a git," he said. "I didn't care about... how you feel."

Yuri kept silent. Had Otabek hurt him so much he would never talk to him? Never share his worries with him? It was a terribly unpleasant thought. He had to somehow encourage Yuri to trust him again. _Now_ he was scared of losing his trust, great... 'Moron. A total moron,' he thought.

Suddenly he remembered what Victor had once said: 'Skaters' hearts are as fragile as glass'. He'd never agreed with that, not in his own neither Yuri Plisetsky's case, for the two of them had the soldiers' hearts. Maybe that was why Yuri fascinated him so much: that behind that pretty face of his was a crouching tiger. Otabek had always considered Yuri as one of the strongest people he'd ever known, someone who could handle any problem. And that was why he had thought his friend's current trouble to be a complete waste of time and had found it annoying. Now he realised that strength didn't rule out a sensitivity. Even if Yuri was the strongest man in the world, it didn't mean he couldn't be hurt - and who it was that could hurt the most? Friends, not enemies. What Yuri expected of him wasn't criticism, but support.

"I'm sorry. You were right, I didn't treat you seriously," he admitted. "Please, let's try again."

After a longer while - it seemed like an eternity to him, but he could do nothing else, only wait - he heard Yuri sigh. The silver medallist of the last World Championships put down his glass and rested his elbows on the counter.

"You know," he began in a quiet voice, "it's not even about the appearance, only... The more I skated Agape, the more I felt like puking. It didn't feel like me. It just didn't. If it was only about the drag, I'd bear with it, but it's something more. It requires my involvement... which is damn exhausting. Every time I did it, I felt I was... hurting myself. Hurting... my soul. Like, you know, when you go out with other to a techno party, though you really hate techno and would rather listen to some heavy metal. It's something like that, only thousand times more. I can't do it another season, I just can't," he confessed in a whisper.

It could by no means be easy to admit his own defeat, especially for someone like him, and Otabek felt terribly relieved. Yuri still trusted him if he'd told him that. He couldn't be more happy, but now it wasn't time to dwell on this; he had to focus on the problem. He kept silent, musing over the younger skater's words - and the metaphor he had used. It appealed to him quite well, for he hated techno himself. If he were forced to play it in the club, he would very quickly felt completely stripped of his personality. Yes, now he could easily imagine Yuri to feel like that when skating his short program... although no outsider would notice that. It, on its part, said something, too.

He drank the coffee and put the glass down. "Do you want to know my opinion? I think it both suits you and not. Listen," he said with emphasis when Yuri snorted. "I think Agape showed the side of you you still don't fully realise. I can't imagine you could skate it the way you did if you hadn't had your heart in it... if you hadn't felt it. And you skated it magnificently."

Yuri glanced at him askance again. "And when did you become such a psychologist?" he asked with an irony.

Otabek ignored that remark. "On the other hand, I understand you. Your character, your way of being and expressing yourself is nothing of a girl. Or an angel. Or a saint... Well, maybe Saint George, the one with the dragon," he said what occurred to him, but quickly refrained from another strange associations when Yuri rolled his eyes. "But no, definitely not a spirited girl. More like..."

He mused. Something began to poke his consciousness, but he couldn't quite grasp it, although he was completely sure it was important... maybe the most important thing that had ever occurred to him. "Let me think," he asked, trying to concentrate.

Yuri rested his elbows on the counter and sipped his drink through the straw. He didn't appear to go anywhere. Maybe he really believed Otabek could help him? That thought aroused a funny feeling in his stomach. And it had been was so close that Otabek ruined it... He was still mad at himself, but he also felt glad he'd managed to avert the crisis. He had no other choice now; he had to make his best. He needed to solve that riddle... somehow combine - on the ice, too - that stunning beauty of Yuri with his character of a warrior...

He dared to look at his friend, who - used to people staring at him - didn't seem bothered by that at all, drinking his third ice coffee just like that. A refined profile with a small nose. Delicate features that still hadn't anything of a man's toughness. Fair hair falling on his forehead, cheek and neck in glistening strands. And those greenish eyes with long lashes, able to look in many different ways than just rebellious. Otabek suppressed his sigh. The harsh reality was that Yuri Plisetsky was prettier than most of the girls he'd met in his life. No, they couldn't waive that beauty.

"Yuri, we can't waive your beauty," he said it aloud. "It's impossible. Even if you tried for some ten years, you'll never look like a macho. Forget it."

"I feel like performing some slaughter," Yuri muttered angrily. "I'll join some gang. Maybe I'll get some scars on my face in a street riot."

Otabek refrained from saying it would only make Yuri look like a kitty that had got into a fight with other stray cats. Slaughter... Gang... Scars...

"That's it!" he exclaimed when the inspiration finally struck him.

Yuri turned to him and gave him a surprise look. "What?"

"Who said you should be a good girl? Just like you told me, it's not going to bring out your whole potential. You'd get sick of skating altogether, and the spectators would surely get bored with watching you do the same thing over and over, even if they wouldn't notice it right away," Otabek decided eagerly, conveniently forgetting he'd just claimed something completely different. "But if you show yourself as a 'bad girl', you're bound to be successful. At least in the next season. And then you'll think of something new. Femme fatale, a woman warrior, hermaphrodite..." he kept throwing examples as visions flooded his mind. He was extremely satisfied.

"Then, I'm doomed to female roles for the rest of my career?" Yuri asked ironically, but he didn't appear angry.

"Well, no. Hermaphrodite is a progress to male ones," Otabek pointed out, albeit with some reluctance. "I suppose at that point you'll have become a man already," upon hearing that, Yuri hissed, "and your image will have evolved. After all, Victor was pretty ambiguous as a teen, too, wasn't he? That long hair of his, flowers and other things. But now no-one would mistake him for a woman," he offered an example that could appeal to Yuri.

Yuri gave him a scrutinizing look. He might have discarded Victor as his idol, but he couldn't write off the man's long career that actually was a splendid part of skating history. Victor still had Yuri's respect, and Otabek could use it.

Yuri sighed. "Then, you mean the different types of femininity... You don't expect me to say I like it, do you? But... you may be... right," he admitted, although it didn't come easy to him, and then stooped over the table. His hair completely obscured his face.

"I think no man but you can achieve it," Otabek added a flattery that was one hundred percent true.

He was certain that a furtive glance that Yuri cast at him was filled with gratitude. Yes, it was the right way to do things. "To comfort you... Every man has some of a woman inside him. It's a good thing to find and cultivate that feminine side."

Yuri snorted. He didn't seem curious about his feminine side in the slightest. Otabek, however, kept string while iron was hot. "You like cats, don't you?" he said casually. "Cats have been associated with femininity since ancient times."

Now Yuri pierced him with a gaze that bewilderment, offence and embarrassment mixed in. And the last one must have prevailed, for the next moment his cheeks were coloured with a hint of red. However, he didn't lose his spirit and called, "Yeah? Then what about your feminine side?"

"No idea. I haven't started to look for it yet," Otabek replied, shrugging.

"You bastard...!"

Yuri straightened up and swept his hand across his face, brushing his hair aside. Then he gave him a sharp look. "I don't know if I agree with you on that, but the rest sounds... interesting," he admitted reluctantly. "I mean that modification of my artistic image. And... maybe... I'm really the only one who can pull it off," he added and didn't sound like the thought pained him.

Otabek knew him as a person always striving to be the best. He nodded and smiled. It seemed Yuri had accepted the challenge - and knowing him, the result would be the most thrilling. He hoped that the young skater would quickly realise the effect he could achieve with his work, the effect that would strengthen his self-confidence even more.

But that exact moment Yuri averted his eyes. "And... you really won't laugh at me?" he muttered, and Otabek would never expect him to do so. Yuri's face indicated he'd blurted it without thinking... but sincerely.

"Have I ever laughed at you?" Otabek replied with a question. "I can be a git... but I wouldn't do it to my best pal," he added in a softer voice. "No, I won't laugh. I think I rather... will be ecstatic."

In a split second Yuri focused his gaze on him again, the look in his greenish eyes sharp as a razor-blade. "Are you sure you're not hitting on me...?" he asked after a while with a glower.

"For God's sake, Yuri Plisetsky! I'm not hitting on you...!"

"Cause, you know, there's suddenly tons of gays and such in our discipline," Yuri muttered. "After Victor and Yūri's wedding everyone's gone crazy."

"And if I tried to hit-" Otabek started involuntarily but then bit his tongue. "No, forget it! I didn't mean it!" he said, remembering he was talking to the sixteen years old kid. What had he ever wanted to ask? 'Would you have anything against it?', 'Would you punch me?', 'Would it change anything?' Idiot.

But it was also true that when Yuri had asked it twice already, he felt like retorting, 'Would you really _like_ me to hit on you?'

"I shouldn't have said it," he muttered and sipped through his straw although the glass was empty.

"I don't know," Yuri replied, and Otabek nearly choked, before looking at him in an utter astonishment.

"Then, we better stop at this," he said in a weak voice.

Yuri nodded, his eyes fixed of the window pane. Then, however, he turned to him and cast him a provocative look from under his fringe. "But in that case you're going to help me. Since it was your idea," he demanded. "With that image and all," he added impatiently when Otabek tried to understand what he was talking about.

He looked at him in bewilderment again. He wouldn't be more shocked if Yuri told him he decided to end with skating and become a tracer of wild tigers in the taiga instead. "How could I, of all people, help someone like-" He stopped; Yuri didn't like such words. "How could I help you?" he asked.

"If I'm going to be a naughty girl," Yuri explained and nearly didn't wince, "I'll need a proper background music. I'm sure you can find a good soundtrack."

Otabek slowly nodded. If that was the case, he really could be of some use. The next moment, however, his heart skipped a beat when Yuri gave him a penetrating look and said pensively, "And maybe we're going to include you in the choreography, too, if only during the training..." And then he casually stretched his arm to move his fingers along Otabek's cheek, lowering his eyelids.

Boos came from the sofa behind their backs. Yuri glared in that direction, his eyes cold as ice, and showed his middle finger. Otabek asked himself whether he'd just witnessed the end of the world - or maybe rather a beginning... before he understood Yuri was apparently trying his new role.

And was damn good at it.

Yuri got up and went to the main counter, as if nothing had happened. Otabek forced his brain and body to operate. He followed his friend, who insisted to pay for them both. "I dragged you here on Friday evening for no reason," he said. "I didn't even ask if you were free."

"I was free. Besides... It wasn't for no reason. I'm glad you contacted me," Otabek replied truthfully as they made their way to the exit. "I hope I could help you. And even if it there hadn't been any reason... we're friends, aren't we?"

Yuri nodded, but then frowned. "I don't like bothering others. I want to deal with my problems on my own."

"Is that why you never ask to meet me?" Otabek asked in a sudden understanding. "You consider it a proof of weakness, too? You think that bonding with others will restrict or oblige you... or expose you?"

Yuri gave him a surprised look before averting his eyes. "Maybe..."

"Moron, you don't need to worry about such things in friendship," Otabek said, suppressing his laughter, and then tousled Yuri's hair under the hood. "I'd always gladly meet with you. Want a lift home?"

Yuri nodded, maybe replying to the former matter as well, Otabek didn't know. Still, he had a hunch - if it wasn't just his wishful thinking - that their relationship should be more natural and spontaneous from now. Really, Yuri liked to complicate the things too much. Why had it ever occurred to him to be so wary around Otabek? However, before he managed to say it aloud, he remembered himself from just a few years ago. And, in fact, it hadn't changed it yet; he wasn't someone to easily open to others. Actually, he was the last person to reproach Yuri for such things.

They left onto the street, that was still filled with bright sunlight, making their way to the parking lot. They walked amongst other people in the city with five million inhabitants, perfectly anonymous...

"And you know, there's one more profit," Otabek shared his sudden observation. "The more you inure people to your artistic image, the longer you'll be able to enjoy such a privacy," he explained. "That is, of course, unless you decide to put on some drags and pin your hair up before leaving home," he added.

"Don't count on this, Otabek," Yuri replied, and there was laughter to his voice, the very first time this evening. "But you're always invited to my performance," he added with something akin to coquetry.

"I'm going to make myself a permanent seat reservation in the first row," Otabek assured him.

"In the first row, now!" Yuri faked an indignation. "You should stand right behind the board."

"Well, I may disguise myself as a cleaner..."

"I'm not going to have a cleaner in my routine...!"

They exchanged looks and burst out laughing. When Yuri contained himself and wiped his eyes, he looked at him from behind the fringe. There was still laughter looming in his gaze, but behind it was a resolution, hard as a steel, and Otabek knew Yuri Plisetsky had made his decision.

"Otabek, we're going to have a hell of fun," the greatest phenomenon of the generation said, and his voice couldn't be more confident. Otabek thought that statement was a good 'thank you' for the conversation they'd just had.

He nodded and thought he couldn't really wait. The next season promised to be extremely fascinating, as well as the preparation to it. He had no doubt that working with that extraordinary talent would benefit his own career, too. Before that... Yeah.

"We're going to have a hell of fun," he repeated after Yuri.

It was obvious that it was more of fun when in the two.


End file.
